


Don and NaN's Big Day at the Bank

by MilkChuggs



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Crime, Gen, San Francisco Lovers (Blaseball Team)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27102469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkChuggs/pseuds/MilkChuggs
Summary: Don only does a little crime, as a treat. And it's been a while since he's done something like rob a bank. Luckily, everyone's favorite posthuman anomaly has temporarily joined the Lovers, and Don sees no reason to let this opportunity go to waste.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Don and NaN's Big Day at the Bank

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking this out! This is the first thing I've written in a long time, and the first thing I've ever posted on this site. It's inspired entirely by a drawing by Fancymancer, which can be found on Don Mitchell's page of the Blaseball wiki.

San Francisco is a beautiful city. Very few who have seen it with their own eyes would dispute that. Certainly, the hills teeming with an eclectic mix of modern architecture and medieval masonry creates a skyline which is uniquely charming. Wonderful, too, is the salty air of the bay blowing in on a soft breeze, or the bright sky shining out over blue waters. Truly, it is a city of allure.

At least it would be, if it wasn't nine in the morning and foggy as all hell. In any case, the current inhabitants of Ye Olde Banke of San Francisco have no time, nor desire, to experience the sensory delights of the city; for them, it is simply another weekday morning. The sound of phones occasionally ringing and murmured conversation are the only thing that disrupt the utter banality of starkly white and grey scene before them.

So it comes as both a surprise and a welcome distraction for many of them when the east wall explodes.

"Alright, nobody here needs to be no hero!" shouts a man as he steps through the gaping hole, silhouetted by a cloud of dust. "Just get down on the ground and keep your eyes to yourselves!"

"Was that really necessary, Mr. Mitchell?" asks a voice, as another form jogs in behind him. As the dust settles, the two become clearly visible, and it's not an exaggeration to say they make an unusual pair. The taller one, clad in a pink pinstripe suit with a matching fedora, wears a cock-sure grin and holds a blaseball bat as though it were some sort of firearm. While the shorter one wears a matching suit (sans hat), it seems almost a size too big on their frame. Strapped on their back is a similar bat, but this one has a crossguard on it, making it resemble a very unwieldy sword more than a piece of splorts equipment.

"No," the man now identified as Mr. Mitchell replies as his eyes scan the floor of the bank. "But sometimes, Kid, you gotta make an entrance."

The patrons of the bank quickly acquiesce to Mitchell's commands, dropping to the ground with an equal measure of fear and giddiness. Whispered conversation soon follows, as the patrons try their hardest to get a peek at the impromptu demolition team with their heads on the ground.

_"Did you see Don's new suit?"_  
_"Who's the flickering guy with him?"_  
_"It's been a while. I really hope we make the news!"_

The pair, however, ignore the common folk of the bank, and stride over to the teller's window. The clerk, seemingly uninterested in the abrupt chaos, simply smiles at the both of them from behind the bulletproof glass.

"Making a withdrawal today?" they ask.

"You know it, sweetheart," the mustachioed gentleman replies.

"Just so you know, I've already hit the silent alarm."

"No worries, we won't be here long." He quickly makes his way around the counter, gesturing to his companion to follow, who simply looks on in stunned confusion.

"C'mon, kid, we've got a date with the vault," Mr. Mitchell calls back as he opens the door in the bulletproof glass.

"Wait," the kid replies, "that's... that’s it? We're in?"

"We're in."

"What about guards? Or the crowd? Or... anything!"

"Good point," Mitchell says, as though the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Don, you're on crowd control!" he calls out to the crowd on the floor.

At his command, a man stands up from the assembled masses; this one sans hat, but otherwise identical to Mitchell, down to his insufferable cocky grin. "Right you are, Don!" he shouts back as he pulls a bat from somewhere in his pink suit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two soon find themselves in front of a rather large and imposing vault door, shiny and chrome, seemingly sturdy enough to withstand a sustained bombing campaign, let alone two strange people with blaseball bats.

Don the first clucks his tongue appreciatively at the imposing structure before him. "Wowza. They don't make 'em like this back in the Prohibition Dimension."

The kid, however, seems more exasperated than impressed. "How are we even supposed to get through this?"

"By using that," Don says, pointing to a computer panel to the side of the vault.

The kid looks back at Don, their puzzlement evident on their face. "You can hack that?"

"Nnnope!" Don replies, a little too cheerfully. "That's why I brought you, Kid."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"I dunno. Fiddle with it. I don't do computers."

“That’s... supremely unhelpful!” the Kid says, anxiety evident in their voice.

Don, for a moment, seems to consider this. Then he looks at the Kid, a soft look in his eyes. “Kid, we’re teammates. Maybe not for very long, but we are. And if there’s anything I’ve learned in this world, it’s that there’s one thing that holds a crew together. And that’s trust. And, well... maybe you can’t see why, but Kid? I trust you. You got this.”

The kid lets out a sigh, shrugs, and makes their way over to the computer panel. They look over the thing; there's a swipe point for a keycard, a touch screen number pad, and even what appears to be a place to leave a handprint. It's not just high-tech; it's ludicrously high tech. Just as they reach out to the device with their hand... their hand seems to flicker, as though it were a bit of flame caught in a slight wind.

The effects are instantaneous; for a moment, the screen of the computer seems to flicker much like their hand, before the screen begins to fill with numbers and symbols, barely readable with the speed they zoom across the display. There is an audible buzz, then a sudden pop; the screen goes completely dark, and a digitized voice calls out, seemingly from nowhere.

"Your credentials are accepted, NAME NOT ON FILE."

There is a whirring sound, the sound of metal scraping against metal, and then...

The vault door rolls out of the way and into the wall with several loud, clanking thunks.

"But..." the kid says, looking down at his hand in amazement. "But I didn't _do_ anything."

"Sometimes, Kid, in life and in Blaseball..." Don says as he steps into the vault, "Your teammates _don’t_ need you to do anything. They just need you to be there."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minutes later, the two of them are back in the lobby, now awkwardly carrying four simple leather briefcases each, Don's bat now firmly secured across his back.

"Well, it's been a real treat robbing you all today," Don says as he makes his way across the floor of the bank back to the hole in the wall. He nonchalantly tosses his briefcases to two other Dons, who have apparently in their absence joined the second Don on crowd control; the trio catch the airborne cargo with the ease of a first baseman.

“Don, Don,” the first Don says, “You two grab the kid’s cases.”

“No problem, Don,” the second Don says, as the remaining new Don grabs two of the Kid’s briefcases before the Kid can react. The second Don, following Don’s lead, takes what’s left from a now very confused Kid.

The motley crew make their way out of the now smokeless hole, into a side alley where two simple black cars wait. Sitting in the driver seat of each of them is another Don.

“Don, Don, and Don,” the first Don says, not bothering to point at any of them, “you’re with Don. Don, you’re with me.”

“Got it, Don,” all of the other assembled Dons reply in unison, before filing into their respective cars with precision.

“Hey wait!” The kid calls out in exasperation, as all the assembled Dons look at them in surprise. “Are any of you going to explain what’s going on?”

“No time, Kid!” the Don in the driver seat of the first car calls out. “The fuzz will be here any minute!”

The first Don turns back to the Kid. “I’m right, Kid. We ain’t got time for the third degree. If you really gotta know, I’ll explain what I can back at the clubhouse. But for now...”

He snaps his fingers toward the second car, and one of the Dons responds by tossing him one of the briefcases. The criminal forcefully places the case in the Kid’s arms before they can protest. “At the very least, you can keep this as a consolation prize.”

“How much money is in this?” the kid asks.

Don simply shrugs, before turning back and jumping into the back car, as the kid looks down at the briefcase incredulously. They shake their head for a moment, almost to clear the confusion welling up in their mind, before shouting “Wait!” as the Dons start their cars. “How is any of this supposed to teach me how to steal blases?”

There’s a moment of palpable silence, before one of the Dons cries out, seemingly equally confused, “I was supposed to be teaching you?”

Before they can retort, both cars speed out the alleyway, leaving a very confused NaN standing next to a massive hole in a bank wall, holding a briefcase.

A few moments pass in the alleyway, as the sound of sirens begin to grow in the distance, before a thought strikes them.

“How am I supposed to get back to the clubhouse?” they ask aloud to the empty street.


End file.
